THE RED FLOWER AND GOLDEN STARS

In the pleasant time of Pentecost, By the little river Kyll, I followed the angler's winding path Or waded the stream at will, And the friendly fertile German land Lay round me green and still.

But all day long on the eastern bank Of the river cool and clear, Where the curving track of the double rails Was hardly seen though near, The endless trains of German troops Went rolling down to Trier.

They packed the windows with bullet heads And caps of hodden gray; They laughed and sang and shouted loud When the trains were brought to a stay; They waved their hands and sang again As they went on their iron way.

No shadow fell on the smiling land, No cloud arose in the sky; I could hear the river's quiet tune When the trains had rattled by; But my heart sank low with a heavy sense Of trouble,—I knew not why.

Then came I into a certain field Where the devil's paint-brush spread 'Mid the gray and green of the rolling hills A flaring splotch of red,— An evil omen, a bloody sign, And a token of many dead.

I saw in a vision the field-gray horde Break forth at the devil's hour, And trample the earth into crimson mud In the rage of the Will to Power,— All this I dreamed in the valley of Kyll, At the sign of the blood-red flower.

A mocking question! Britain's answer came Swift as the light and searching as the flame.

“Yes, for a scrap of paper we will fight Till our last breath, and God defend the right!

“A scrap of paper where a name is set Is strong as duty's pledge and honor's debt.

“A scrap of paper holds for man and wife The sacrament of love, the bond of life.

“A scrap of paper may be Holy Writ With God's eternal word to hallow it.

“A scrap of paper binds us both to stand Defenders of a neutral neighbor land.

“By God, by faith, by honor, yes! We fight To keep our name upon that paper white.”

Stand fast, Great Britain! Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand One in the faith that makes a mighty land,— True to the bond you gave and will not break And fearless in the fight for conscience' sake! Against the Giant Robber clad in steel, With blood of trampled Belgium on his heel, Striding through France to strike you down at last, Britain, stand fast!

Stand fast, brave land! The Huns are thundering toward the citadel; They prate of Culture but their path is Hell; Their light is darkness, and the bloody sword They wield and worship is their only Lord. O land where reason stands secure on right, O land where freedom is the source of light, Against the mailed Barbarians' deadly blast, Britain, stand fast!

Stand fast, dear land! Thou island mother of a world-wide race, Whose children speak thy tongue and love thy face, Their hearts and hopes are with thee in the strife, Their hands will break the sword that seeks thy life; Fight on until the Teuton madness cease; Fight bravely on, until the word of peace Is spoken in the English tongue at last,— Britain, stand fast!

“Lights out” along the land, “Lights out” upon the sea. The night must put her hiding hand O'er peaceful towns where children sleep, And peaceful ships that darkly creep Across the waves, as if they were not free.

The dragons of the air, The hell-hounds of the deep, Lurking and prowling everywhere, Go forth to seek their helpless prey, Not knowing whom they maim or slay— Mad harvesters, who care not what they reap.

Out with the tranquil lights, Out with the lights that burn For love and law and human rights! Set back the clock a thousand years: All they have gained now disappears, And the dark ages suddenly return.

Kaiser, who loosed wild death, And terror in the night, God grant you draw no quiet breath, Until the madness you began Is ended, and long-suffering man, Set free from war lords, cries, “Let there be Light.”

God said, “I am tired of kings,”— But that was a long while ago! And meantime man said, “No,— I like their looks in their robes and rings.” So he crowned a few more, And they went on playing the game as before, Fighting and spoiling things.

Man said, “I am tired of kings! Sons of the robber-chiefs of yore, They make me pay for their lust and their war; I am the puppet, they pull the strings; The blood of my heart is the wine they drink. I will govern myself for awhile I think, And see what that brings!”

Then God, who made the first remark, Smiled in the dark.

If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts' cage; If Right made Might, this were the golden age; But now, until we win the long campaign, Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign.

Peace without Justice is a low estate,— A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal,— We'll pay the price of war to make it real.

O Music hast thou only heard The laughing river, the singing bird, The murmuring wind in the poplar-trees,— Nothing but Nature's melodies? Nay, thou hearest all her tones, As a Queen must hear! Sounds of wrath and fear, Mutterings, shouts, and moans, Madness, tumult, and despair,— All she has that shakes the air With voices fierce and wild! Thou art a Queen and not a dreaming child,— Put on thy crown and let us hear thee reign Triumphant in a world of storm and strain!

Echo the long-drawn sighs Of the mounting wind in the pines; And the sobs of the mounting waves that rise In the dark of the troubled deep To break on the beach in fiery lines. Echo the far-off roll of thunder, Rumbling loud And ever louder, under The blue-black curtain of cloud, Where the lightning serpents gleam. Echo the moaning Of the forest in its sleep Like a giant groaning In the torment of a dream.

Now an interval of quiet For a moment holds the air In the breathless hush Of a silent prayer.

Then the sudden rush Of the rain, and the riot Of the shrieking, tearing gale Breaks loose in the night, With a fusillade of hail! Hear the forest fight, With its tossing arms that crack and clash In the thunder's cannonade, While the lightning's forked flash Brings the old hero-trees to the ground with a crash! Hear the breakers' deepening roar, Driven like a herd of cattle In the wild stampede of battle, Trampling, trampling, trampling, to overwhelm the shore!

Is it the end of all? Will the land crumble and fall? Nay, for a voice replies Out of the hidden skies, “Thus far, O sea, shalt thou go, So long, O wind, shalt thou blow: Return to your bounds and cease, And let the earth have peace!”

O Music, lead the way— The stormy night is past, Lift up our hearts to greet the day, And the joy of things that last.

The dissonance and pain That mortals must endure, Are changed in thine immortal strain To something great and pure.

True love will conquer strife, And strength from conflict flows, For discord is the thorn of life And harmony the rose.

The gabled roofs of old Malines Are russet red and gray and green, And o'er them in the sunset hour Looms, dark and huge, St. Rombold's tower. High in that rugged nest concealed, The sweetest bells that ever pealed, The deepest bells that ever rung, The lightest bells that ever sung, Are waiting for the master's hand To fling their music o'er the land.

And shall they ring to-night, Malines? In nineteen hundred and fourteen, The frightful year, the year of woe, When fire and blood and rapine flow Across the land from lost Liége, Storm-driven by the German rage? The other carillons have ceased: Fallen is Hasselt, fallen Diest, From Ghent and Bruges no voices come, Antwerp is silent, Brussels dumb!

But in thy belfry, O Malines, The master of the bells unseen Has climbed to where the keyboard stands,— To-night his heart is in his hands! Once more, before invasion's hell Breaks round the tower he loves so well, Once more he strikes the well-worn keys, And sends aërial harmonies Far-floating through the twilight dim In patriot song and holy hymn.

O listen, burghers of Malines! Soldier and workman, pale béguine, And mother with a trembling flock Of children clinging to thy frock,— Look up and listen, listen all! What tunes are these that gently fall Around you like a benison? “The Flemish Lion,” “Brabançonne,” “O brave Liége,” and all the airs That Belgium in her bosom bears.

Ring up, ye silvery octaves high, Whose notes like circling swallows fly; And ring, each old sonorous bell,— “Jesu,” “Maria,” “Michaël!” Weave in and out, and high and low, The magic music that you know, And let it float and flutter down To cheer the heart of the troubled town. Ring out, “Salvator,” lord of all,— “Roland” in Ghent may hear thee call!

O brave bell-music of Malines, In this dark hour how much you mean! The dreadful night of blood and tears Sweeps down on Belgium, but she hears Deep in her heart the melody Of songs she learned when she was free. She will not falter, faint, nor fail, But fight until her rights prevail And all her ancient belfries ring “The Flemish Lion,” “God Save the King!”

What hast thou done, O womanhood of France, Mother and daughter, sister, sweetheart, wife, What hast thou done, amid this fateful strife, To prove the pride of thine inheritance In this fair land of freedom and romance? I hear thy voice with tears and courage rife,— Smiling against the swords that seek thy life,— Make answer in a noble utterance: “I give France all I have, and all she asks. Would it were more! Ah, let her ask and take: My hands to nurse her wounded, do her tasks,— My feet to run her errands through the dark,— My heart to bleed in triumph for her sake,— And all my soul to follow thee, Jeanne d'Arc!”

Give us a name to fill the mind With the shining thoughts that lead mankind, The glory of learning, the joy of art,— A name that tells of a splendid part In the long, long toil and the strenuous fight Of the human race to win its way From the feudal darkness into the day Of Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,— A name like a star, a name of light. I give you France!

Give us a name to stir the blood With a warmer glow and a swifter flood, At the touch of a courage that conquers fear,— A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear, And silver-sweet, and iron-strong, That calls three million men to their feet, Ready to march, and steady to meet The foes who threaten that name with wrong,— A name that rings like a battle-song. I give you France!

Give us a name to move the heart With the strength that noble griefs impart, A name that speaks of the blood outpoured To save mankind from the sway of the sword,— A name that calls on the world to share In the burden of sacrificial strife When the cause at stake is the world's free life And the rule of the people everywhere,— A name like a vow, a name like a prayer. I give you France!

They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold In glittering flood has poured into thy chest; Thy flocks and herds increase, thy barns are pressed With harvest, and thy stores can hardly hold Their merchandise; unending trains are rolled Along thy network rails of East and West; Thy factories and forges never rest; Thou art enriched in all things bought and sold!

But dost thou prosper? Better news I crave. O dearest country, is it well with thee Indeed, and is thy soul in health? A nobler people, hearts more wisely brave, And thoughts that lift men up and make them free,— These are prosperity and vital wealth!

The glory of ships is an old, old song, since the days when the sea-rovers ran, In their open boats through the roaring surf, and the spread of the world began; The glory of ships is a light on the sea, and a star in the story of man.

When Homer sang of the galleys of Greece that conquered the Trojan shore, And Solomon lauded the barks of Tyre that brought great wealth to his door, 'Twas little they knew, those ancient men, what would come of the sail and the oar.

The Greek ships rescued the West from the East, when they harried the Persians home; And the Roman ships were the wings of strength that bore up the empire, Rome; And the ships of Spain found a wide new world, far over the fields of foam.

Then the tribes of courage at last saw clear that the ocean was not a bound, But a broad highway, and a challenge to seek for treasure as yet unfound; So the fearless ships fared forth to the search, in joy that the globe was round.

Their hulls were heightened, their sails spread out, they grew with the growth of their quest; They opened the secret doors of the East, and the golden gates of the West; And many a city of high renown was proud of a ship on its crest.

The fleets of England and Holland and France were at strife with each other and Spain; And battle and storm sent a myriad ships to sleep in the depths of the main; But the seafaring spirit could never be drowned, and it filled up the fleets again.

They greatened and grew, with the aid of steam, to a wonderful, vast array, That carries the thoughts and the traffic of men into every harbor and bay; And now in the world-wide work of the ships 'tis England that leads the way.

O well for the leading that follows the law of a common right on the sea! But ill for the leader who tries to hold what belongs to mankind in fee! The way of the ships is an open way, and the ocean must ever be free!

Remember, O first of the maritime folk, how the rise of your greatness began. It will live if you safeguard the round-the-world road from the shame of a selfish ban; For the glory of ships is a light on the sea, and a star in the story of man!

You dare to say with perjured lips, “We fight to make the ocean free”? You, whose black trail of butchered ships Bestrews the bed of every sea Where German submarines have wrought Their horrors! Have you never thought,— What you call freedom, men call piracy!

Unnumbered ghosts that haunt the wave, Where you have murdered, cry you down; And seamen whom you would not save, Weave now in weed-grown depths a crown Of shame for your imperious head, A dark memorial of the dead Women and children whom you sent to drown.

Nay, not till thieves are set to guard The gold, and corsairs called to keep O'er peaceful commerce watch and ward, And wolves to herd the helpless sheep, Shall men and women look to thee, Thou ruthless Old Man of the Sea, To safeguard law and freedom on the deep!

In nobler breeds we put our trust: The nations in whose sacred lore The “Ought” stands out above the “Must,” And honor rules in peace and war. With these we hold in soul and heart, With these we choose our lot and part, Till Liberty is safe on sea and shore.

Thou warden of the western gate, above Manhattan Bay, The fogs of doubt that hid thy face are driven clean away: Thine eyes at last look far and clear, thou liftest high thy hand To spread the light of liberty world-wide for every land.

No more thou dreamest of a peace reserved alone for thee, While friends are fighting for thy cause beyond the guardian sea: The battle that they wage is thine; thou fallest if they fall; The swollen flood of Prussian pride will sweep unchecked o'er all.

O cruel is the conquer-lust in Hohenzollern brains: The paths they plot to gain their goal are dark with shameful stains; No faith they keep, no law revere, no god but naked Might; They are the foemen of mankind. Up, Liberty, and smite!

Britain, and France, and Italy, and Russia newly born, Have waited for thee in the night. Oh, come as comes the morn! Serene and strong and full of faith, America, arise, With steady hope and mighty help to join thy brave Allies.

O dearest country of my heart, home of the high desire, Make clean thy soul for sacrifice on Freedom's altar-fire: For thou must suffer, thou must fight, until the warlords cease, And all the peoples lift their heads in liberty and peace.

I never thought again to hear The Oxford thrushes singing clear, Amid the February rain, Their sweet, indomitable strain.

A wintry vapor lightly spreads Among the trees, and round the beds Where daffodil and jonquil sleep; Only the snowdrop wakes to weep.

It is not springtime yet. Alas, What dark, tempestuous days must pass, Till England's trial by battle cease, And summer comes again with peace.

The lofty halls, the tranquil towers, Where Learning in untroubled hours Held her high court, serene in fame, Are lovely still, yet not the same.

The novices in fluttering gown No longer fill the ancient town; But fighting men in khaki drest, And in the Schools the wounded rest.

Ah, far away, 'neath stranger skies Full many a son of Oxford lies, And whispers from his warrior grave, “I died to keep the faith you gave.”

The mother mourns, but does not fail, Her courage and her love prevail O'er sorrow, and her spirit hears The promise of triumphant years.

Then sing, ye thrushes, in the rain Your sweet indomitable strain. Ye bring a word from God on high And voices in our hearts reply.

Home, for my heart still calls me; Home, through the danger zone; Home, whatever befalls me, I will sail again to my own!

Wolves of the sea are hiding Closely along the way, Under the water biding Their moment to rend and slay.

Black is the eagle that brands them, Black are their hearts as the nights Black is the hate that sends them To murder but not to fight.

Flower of the German Culture, Boast of the Kaiser's Marine, Choose for your emblem the vulture, Cowardly, cruel, obscene!

Forth from her sheltered haven Our peaceful ship glides slow, Noiseless in flight as a raven, Gray as a hoodie crow.

She doubles and turns in her bearing, Like a twisting plover she goes; The way of her westward faring Only the captain knows.

In a lonely bay concealing She lingers for days, and slips At dusk from her covert, stealing Thro' channels feared by the ships.

Brave are the men, and steady, Who guide her over the deep,— British mariners, ready To face the sea-wolf's leap.

Lord of the winds and waters, Bring our ship to her mark, Safe from this game of hide-and-seek With murderers in the dark!

The winds of war-news change and veer: Now westerly and full of cheer, Now easterly, depressing, sour With tidings of the Teutons' power.

But thou, America, whose heart With brave Allies has taken part, Be not a weathercock to change With these wild winds that shift and range.

Be thou a compass ever true, Through sullen clouds or skies of blue, To that great star which rules the night,— The star of Liberty and Right.

Lover of peace, oh set thy soul, Thy strength, thy wealth, thy conscience whole, To win the peace thine eyes foresee,— The triumph of Democracy.

There are many kinds of anger, as many kinds of fire; And some are fierce and fatal with murderous desire; And some are mean and craven, revengeful, sullen, slow, They hurt the man that holds them more than they hurt his foe.

And yet there is an anger that purifies the heart: The anger of the better against the baser part, Against the false and wicked, against the tyrant's sword, Against the enemies of love, and all that hate the Lord.

O cleansing indignation, O flame of righteous wrath, Give me a soul to feel thee and follow in thy path! Save me from selfish virtue, arm me for fearless fight, And give me strength to carry on, a soldier of the Right!

I have no joy in strife, Peace is my great desire; Yet God forbid I lose my life Through fear to face the fire.

A peaceful man must fight For that which peace demands,— Freedom and faith, honor and right, Defend with heart and hands.

Farewell, my friendly books; Farewell, ye woods and streams; The fate that calls me forward looks To a duty beyond dreams.

Oh, better to be dead With a face turned to the sky, Than live beneath a slavish dread And serve a giant lie.

Stand up, my heart, and strive For the things most dear to thee! Why should we care to be alive Unless the world is free?

O dark the night and dim the day When first our flag arose; It fluttered bravely in the fray To meet o'erwhelming foes. Our fathers saw the splendor shine, They dared and suffered all; They won our freedom by the sign— The holy sign, the radiant sign— Of the stars that never fall.

All hail to thee, Young Glory! Among the flags of earth We'll ne'er forget the story Of thy heroic birth.

O wild the later storm that shook The pillars of the State, When brother against brother took The final arms of fate. But union lived and peace divine Enfolded brothers all; The flag floats o'er them with the sign— The loyal sign, the equal sign— Of the stars that never fall.

All hail to thee, Old Glory! Of thee our heart's desire Foretells a golden story, For thou hast come through fire.

O fiercer than all wars before That raged on land or sea, The Giant Robber's world-wide war For the things that shall not be! Thy sister banners hold the line; To thee, dear flag, they call; And thou hast joined them with the sign— The heavenly sign, the victor sign— Of the stars that never fall.

All hail to thee, New Glory! We follow thee unfurled To write the larger story Of Freedom for the World.

The rough expanse of democratic sea Which parts the lands that live by liberty Is no division; for their hearts are one. To fight together till their cause is won.

For land and water let us make our pact, And seal the solemn word with valiant act: No continent is firm, no ocean pure, Until on both the rights of man are sure.

Sign of the Love Divine That bends to bear the load Of all who suffer, all who bleed, Along life's thorny road:

Sign of the Heart Humane, That through the darkest fight Would bring to wounded friend and foe A ministry of light:

O dear and holy sign, Lead onward like a star! The armies of the just are thine, And all we have and are.

Under the cloud of world-wide war, While earth is drenched with sorrow, I have no heart for idle merrymaking, Or for the fashioning of glad raiment. I will retrace the divine footmarks, On the Road of the first Easter.

Down through the valley of utter darkness Dripping with blood and tears; Over the hill of the skull, the little hill of great anguish, The ambuscade of Death. Into the no-man's-land of Hades Bearing despatches of hope to spirits in prison, Mortally stricken and triumphant Went the faithful Captain of Salvation.

Then upward, swiftly upward,— Victory, liberty, glory, The feet that were wounded walked in the tranquil garden, Bathed in dew and the light of deathless dawn.

O my soul, my comrades, soldiers of freedom, Follow the pathway of Easter, for there is no other, Follow it through to peace, yea, follow it fighting. This Armageddon is not darker than Calvary. The day will break when the Dragon is vanquished; He that exalteth himself as God shall be cast down, And the Lords of war shall fall, And the long, long terror be ended, Victory, justice, peace enduring! They that die in this cause shall live forever, And they that live shall never die, They shall rejoice together in the Easter of a new world.

Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue, America's crusading host of warriors bold and true; They battled for the rights of man beside our brave Allies, And now they're coming home to us with glory in their eyes.

Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me! Our hearts are turning home again and there we long to be, In our beautiful big country beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Our boys have seen the Old World as none have seen before. They know the grisly horror of the German gods of war: The noble faith of Britain and the hero-heart of France, The soul of Belgium's fortitude and Italy's romance.

They bore our country's great word across the rolling sea, “America swears brotherhood with all the just and free.” They wrote that word victorious on fields of mortal strife, And many a valiant lad was proud to seal it with his life.

Oh, welcome home in Heaven's peace, dear spirits of the dead! And welcome home ye living sons America hath bred! The lords of war are beaten down, your glorious task is done; You fought to make the whole world free, and the victory is won.

Now it's home again, and home again, our hearts are turning west, Of all the lands beneath the sun America is best. We're going home to our own folks, beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Ship after ship, and every one with a high-resounding name, From the robber-nest of Heligoland the German war-fleet came; Not victory or death they sought, but a rendezvous of shame.

Sing out, sing out, A joyful shout, Ye lovers of the sea! The “Kaiser” and the “Kaiserin,” The “König” and the “Prinz,” The potentates of piracy, Are coming to surrender, And the ocean shall be free.

They never dared the final fate of battle on the blue; Their sea-wolves murdered merchantmen and mocked the drowning crew; They stained the wave with martyr-blood,—but we sent our transports through!

What flags are these that dumbly droop from the gaff o' the mainmast tall? The black of the Kaiser's iron cross, the red of the Empire's fall! Come down, come down, ye pirate flags. Yea, strike your colors all.

The Union Jack and the Tricolor and the Starry Flag o' the West Shall guard the fruit of Freedom's war and the victory confest, The flags of the brave and just and free shall rule on the ocean's breast.

Sing out, sing out, A mighty shout, Ye lovers of the sea! The “Kaiser” and the “Kaiserin,” The “König” and the “Prinz,” The robber-lords of death and sin, Have come to their surrender, And the ocean shall be free!

It was my lot of late to travel far Through all America's domain, A willing, gray-haired servitor Bearing the Fiery Cross of righteous war. And everywhere, on mountain, vale and plain, In crowded street and lonely cottage door, I saw the symbol of the bright blue star. Millions of stars! Rejoice, dear land, rejoice That God hath made thee great enough to give Beneath thy starry flag unfurled A gift to all the world,— Thy living sons that Liberty might live.

It seems but yesterday they sallied forth Boys of the east, the west, the south, the north, High-hearted, keen, with laughter and with song, Fearless of lurking danger on the sea, Eager to fight in Flanders or in France Against the monstrous German wrong, And sure of victory! Brothers in soul with British and with French They held their ground in many a bloody trench; And when the swift word came— Advance! Over the top they went through waves of flame,— Confident, reckless, irresistible, Real Americans,— Their rush was never stayed Until the foe fell back, defeated and dismayed. O land that bore them, write upon thy roll Of battles won To liberate the human soul, Château Thierry and Saint Mihiel And the fierce agony of the Argonne; Yea, count among thy little rivers, dear Because of friends whose feet have trodden there, The Marne, the Meuse, and the Moselle.

Now the vile sword In Potsdam forged and bathed in hell, Is beaten down, the victory given To the sword forged in faith and bathed in heaven. Now home again our heroes come: Oh, welcome them with bugle and with drum, Ring bells, blow whistles, make a joyful noise Unto the Lord, And welcome home our blue-star boys, Whose manhood has made known To all the world America, Unselfish, brave and free, the Great Republic, Who lives not to herself alone.

But many a lad we hold Dear in our heart of hearts Is missing from the home-returning host. Ah, say not they are lost, For they have found and given their life In sacrificial strife: Their service stars have changed from blue to gold! That sudden rapture took them far away, Yet are they here with us to-day, Even as the heavenly stars we cannot see Through the bright veil of sunlight, Shed their influence still On our vexed life, and promise peace From God to all men of good will.

What wreaths shall we entwine For our dear boys to deck their holy shrine? Mountain-laurel, morning-glory, Goldenrod and asters blue, Purple loosestrife, prince's-pine, Wild-azalea, meadow-rue, Nodding-lilies, columbine,— All the native blooms that grew In these fresh woods and pastures new, Wherein they loved to ramble and to play. Bring no exotic flowers: America was in their hearts, And they are ours For ever and a day.

O happy warriors, forgive the tear Falling from eyes that miss you: Forgive the word of grief from mother-lips That ne'er on earth shall kiss you; Hear only what our hearts would have you hear,— Glory and praise and gratitude and pride From the dear country in whose cause you died. Now you have run your race and won your prize, Old age shall never burden you, the fears And conflicts that beset our lingering years Shall never vex your souls in Paradise. Immortal, young, and crowned with victory, From life's long battle you have found release. And He who died for all on Calvary Has welcomed you, brave soldiers of the cross, Into eternal Peace.

Come, let us gird our loins and lift our load, Companions who are left on life's rough road, And bravely take the way that we must tread To keep true faith with our beloved dead. To conquer war they dared their lives to give, To safeguard peace our hearts must learn to live. Help us, dear God, our forward faith to hold! We want a better world than that of old. Lead us on paths of high endeavor, Toiling upward, climbing ever, Ready to suffer for the right, Until at last we gain a loftier height, More worthy to behold Our guiding stars, our hero-stars of gold.

In the blue heaven the clouds will come and go, Scudding before the gale, or drifting slow As galleons becalmed in Sundown Bay: And through the air the birds will wing their way Soaring to far-off heights, or flapping low, Or darting like an arrow from the bow; And when the twilight comes the stars will show, One after one, their tranquil bright array In the blue heaven.

But ye who fearless flew to meet the foe, Eagles of freedom,—nevermore, we know, Shall we behold you floating far away. Yet clouds and birds and every starry ray Will draw our heart to where your spirits glow In the blue Heaven.

Here the great heart of France, Victor in noble strife, Doth consecrate a Poilu's tomb To those who saved her life!

Brave son without a name, Your country calls you home, To rest among her heirs of fame, Beneath the Pantheon's dome!

Now from the height of Heaven, The souls of heroes look; Their names, ungraven on this stone, Are written in God's book.

Women of France, who mourn Your dead in unmarked ground, Come hither! Here the man you loved In the heart of France is found!